Page 2 of Stalkers Anonymous

“Austen,” says the next man, clearly the tallest of them all, even from a sitting position. His tweed jacket and wire-rimmed glasses give off strong English-professor vibes. “I…became invested in a student’s life.” His mouth twists. “It’s a long story.”

I bet it is.

Next is a lean guy in athletic wear who, like me, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Zachary. Zach. Whatever you want to call me. Fitness coach.” He glances at Tracey, who gives him an encouraging nod. “I got fired for tracking a client’s workouts when he wasn’t with me. And for showing up on his jogging route to make sure he was running when he said he’d be. And I went to his new gym.”

He crosses his arms defensively as he shrugs. “I was just trying to help him reach his goals, but I took it too far. I needed to take a step back and realize that fitness isn’t that serious. So here I am.”

The lone woman in the group gives me a smile. She’s small compared to the men seated around her. Even Tracey towers over her. “I’m Jessica. You can call me Jess.” She tucks a thick strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I may have taken it too far trying to protect my abusive ex’s new girlfriend. I didn’t know when to quit and way overstepped.”

I nod, taking them in one at a time. They’re all normal people with normal jobs. People who blend in with everyday life.

People like me.

“The thing we all have in common,” Tracey says like she’s one of us, “is that we convinced ourselves we had valid reasons for our behavior. Protection. Artistic expression. Academic interest. Professional commitment. Love.” She lets that sink in, pausing for a longer-than-necessary dramatic effect, before she continues. “Part of recovery is recognizing that our intentions don’t justify actions that violate others’ autonomy and privacy. We have to be careful not to overstep boundaries. It doesn’t matter if they’ve already been put in place or not. Our goal here is to recognize when we’ve pushed too far, then step back without hesitation.”

I shift in my seat. “With all due respect, there’s a difference between stalking an ex and monitoring someone who’s an actual security threat.”

“Is there?” Tracey asks, her eyebrows rising just slightly. “In both cases, you’re appointing yourself the arbiter of someone else’s life without their knowledge or consent. You’re deciding what information about them you have the right to collect and what actions you’re justified in taking based on that information.”

I open my mouth to argue, then quickly close it. I can’t be argumentative. I have to be here if I want to keep my job. Nothing I say will change that. It’s better to play along and get through the required twenty-six weeks of this shit than risk losing the only job I can get right now.

“One of our core strategies here is our buddy system,” Tracey continues, licking her finger and flipping a page on her clipboard. “Each member is paired with another for check-ins between our weekly meetings. It helps with accountability and provides support during vulnerable moments when you might be tempted to fall back into addictive behaviors.”

Great. Stalker buddies. I hope we get to wear matching T-shirts.

“Tyler, would you be willing to partner with Cole?”

Tyler gives me an appraising look, then nods. “Sure. I remember how it feels to be the new guy. I’m sure I can help him fit right in.”

“Excellent. Please exchange contact information after the meeting.” Tracey glances at her watch. “Now, let’s move on to our progress reports for the week. Grant, at our last session you mentioned a situation that was triggering you. How did you handle that?”

As Grant launches into a story about a wedding he photographed, I zone out, my mind documenting details about the room and its occupants.

Because old habits die hard.

The exit door’s hinges are slightly rusted. Jessica’s keychain has a pepper spray canister and a small tracking device disguised as a decorative charm—an interesting choice for someone in recovery. Austen’s phone screen lights up three times with notifications he pointedly ignores. Tyler keeps his keys organized with a system of colored rings.

I force myself to stop, blinking several times. What am I doing? This is exactly the kind of hypervigilance that will only continue to get me into trouble.

“Cole?”

I snap back to attention. Once again, six pairs of eyes are trained on me. From the look on Tracey’s face, I get the impression it’s not the first time she’s said my name.

Straightening in my chair, I lean forward and clasp my hands as I clear my throat. “Sorry, what was the question?”

I don’t know how I’m going to make it through six months of this shit.

“I asked if you’ve identified any specific triggers that lead to you crossing interpersonal boundaries. Are there any situations or emotions that make you feel the need to gather information or track someone?”

When I don’t answer immediately, unsure what exactly she wants me to say, Tyler jumps in. “She’s asking if you know why you’re a stalker. Self-awareness and all that.”

I stare blankly between him and Tracey, who’s looking increasingly annoyed with Tyler and his insistent use of the word “stalker.” I consider deflecting but ultimately decide that a small truth might satisfy her enough to let me slip under her radar.

“Perceived threats. When I think someone might be dangerous or hiding something, I go into information-gathering mode. It’s automatic. Not something I really notice until I’ve gone too far.”

She nods. “That’s a common trigger. For your homework this week, I’d like you to document instances when you feel that impulse arise. Resist the urge to act on it. Just note the situation, the emotions you experienced, and what you did instead of gathering information.”

I’ve got an advanced degree in Intelligence Studies, eight years of military experience, and a security clearance that would make the president’s eyes water. But she wants to give me homework? Perfect.